Waltz
by AThousandVoices
Summary: Soon they are spinning, spinning through the cellar, and Mrs. Lovett likes to think his breathless laugh is the last sound she will ever hear.
1. Part One

A/N: So this is a little idea I wanted to play around with; it's a two-part oneshot, one taking place before Barker got sent away and one taking place during the final scene sequence. I hope it makes sense! As always, reviews and constructive criticism are always looked for (:

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Mrs. Lovett stands in front of the table, meat cleaver in hand, as she hacks away at the decimated body of what seems to have been some animal. She digs the sharp blade in, letting it sink between bones, to loosen the meat and wrest it off the carcass. It's cheaper this way, to butcher it herself, and lord knows she needs any money she can salvage. Sweat trickles down her back as her muscles protest against the work, but she's used to it. It calms her and lets her take her frustrations out on something futile, something she won't regret in the morning. And it's an escape from Albert. He means well, but Nellie can't stand even looking at him any more. His weight repulses her, the way his stomach hangs over the front of his trousers and how the fat jiggles when he walks. She can picture his double chin, bouncing as he gorges himself on another pie and then another, meaty fingers shoving crumbs and chunks into his mouth, missing half the time and leaving food dribbling down his face and on his shirts.

Swallowing, Mrs. Lovett hacks into the meat again, forcing the thoughts from her mind. She rips a portion from the bone, tossing it into the grinder and wiping her bloody palms on her apron. Auburn tendrils cling to her forehead and the back of her neck, pasted there with a mixture of sweat and flour and blood, and for what is not the first time she wishes she could look pretty like Lucy in everything she does. Mrs. Barker always glows, no matter what she is doing. Her hair always falls like silk around her face, framing her bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks and bright pink lips. Even when she is crying, she is beautiful. And it is no wonder Mr. Barker prefers her over Nellie, who can never quite wash the flour off or keep the tangles out of her hair or get rid of the red stains on her dresses from her amateur butchering.

Tears sting her eyes and she wants to slam a fist on the table, to hurl the cleaver at the wall and overturn the table and rage until she feels better, but she doesn't. Instead, she wipes at her eyes and blinks away the grit, clenching her teeth and slamming into the meat again. Now, she simply wants to finish the job so she can lie with Albert and pretend to sleep until he has drifted off and she can pull herself out of his arms and rest on the settee for a while. She has been down her for hours already she knows, but Albert does not care. He does not look for her, laziness and indifference clouding his judgement. But that's nothing new. Nellie prefers it this way, so she doesn't have to be subjected to her harsh reality every day. In the privacy of the bakehouse, she can spin fantasies around her where she can dance and twirl like Mrs. Barker, where her hair isn't tangled auburn but silky gold, where she can almost feel his arms around her.

Only when gentle hands pry the meat cleaver from her hands does Mrs. Lovett realize she has let the tears spill. She hiccups, wiping hastily at her eyes with the back of her hand before turning to face not Albert Lovett but Benjamin Barker. Shock dances through her body mingled with embarrassment that twinges her cheeks red.

"Mr - Mr. Barker!"

Her voice is falsely cheery, hysteria edging its way in with a thickness neither she nor Benjamin can deny. His eyes are grave and a sad smile plays on his lips as he places the knife down on the table and just looks at her. Mrs. Lovett is frozen, unsure of what to do now, never having imagined that he would find her here, in her most private place, in one of her most private thoughts, but he is here and she is almost glad. And yet she cannot make herself move, cannot make herself explain herself, but somewhere she knows he understands.

He pulls her to him, his arms surprisingly strong, and she stifles a sob, resting her head on his shoulder. Mr. Barker leads her slowly away from the table and they walk together, almost a dance, never breaking contact. His hand finds its way to her hair, her tangled mess of curls, and he strokes it softly. His tenderness makes new tears spill down her cheeks, surely staining his crisp white shirt, but Benjamin says nothing, only murmuring soothing words.

After an eternity, she pulls back, her eyes ringed and red, and Benjamin looks at her. She opens her mouth, frantically trying to think of something to say, some lie to tell, to say she's fine, that she was thinking about her daughter, anything, but Mr. Barker cuts her off.

"You don't need to explain," he says, and somehow these few words comfort her more than anyone ever has.

He pulls her close again, and Mrs. Lovett closes her eyes. It's too easy to pretend he is hers, that she is graceful like Lucy and beautiful and happy and that all her dreams are reality. And she decides that for tonight she deserves this. So Nellie pulls herself out of his arms for a moment, looking up into his warm brown eyes.

"Will you teach me to dance?"

His brow furrows, and her heart skips a beat. "I just...I've seen you goin' with Lucy an' I've never learned so I thought..."

He cuts her off by moving one of his hands to her waist, clasping hers with the other, and lifting their arms. "Here," he says softly, shrugging a shoulder. She places her hand on it, and they move slowly at first, step by step, and Mr. Barker murmurs to her as she struggles to keep tempo with the music in her head, but he is patient and kind and she is eager. Soon they are spinning, spinning through the cellar, and Mrs. Lovett likes to think his breathless laugh is the last sound she will ever hear.


	2. Part Two

_A/N: So here's the second part! I'm not really that happy with how either part came out, but I liked the idea, so maybe I'll come back and revise them again someday. But for now, here they are! (:_

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Nellie Lovett sighed, watching Sweeney Todd hurry out of the heavy doors of the bakehouse. Yes, she was glad they had not found Toby, but he was sure to return to his efforts after he'd seen to the Judge. Squeezing her eyes shut, she presses her palms against her eyelids in a hopeless effort to keep the tears back that had been threatening since the boy had professed his true feelings about Mr. Todd. Mrs. Lovett had known the boy wasn't exactly fond of Mr. T, but she never would have guessed he'd suspect him. The lad had seemed simple enough, unquestioning about Pirelli's absence, and he took quickly to life with Nellie. She came to think of him as a son and liked to think he shared her sentiments. And obviously he had. A bit too much.

Swallowing, Mrs. Lovett pulls her meat cleaver out of the table, setting to work on the ribcage she hadn't quite finished with. She hacks into the meat, forcing the thoughts from her mind. She did this for him. For him for him for him. And for what is not the first time she wishes there was a way to break through to him. She has tried seducing him, caring for him, speaking to him, and even attempted to grow with child. But nothing has worked. He laid with her almost every night since she'd finally broken him down, but instead of falling for her Sweeney Todd was able to use her without feeling. It was almost worse than when he had ignored her completely.

Tears sting her eyes and she wants to slam a fist on the table, to hurl the cleaver at the wall and overturn the table and rage until she feels better, but she doesn't. Instead, she wipes at her eyes and blinks away the grit, clenching her teeth and slamming into the meat again. She will get to him somehow. Now that he will have the Judge, spill his precious rubies, perhaps his revenge will be taken and he will forget his past. Perhaps she can convince him that the bright blue shimmer of the sea at noon is just as beautiful as the crimson that he spills at midnight. As it always has been, the bakehouse is her refuge, and somehow knowing the corpse she is decimating is human makes it all the better. She can pretend it's her, that she is exacting the revenge she has deserved for so long.

Only when the body lying on the ground begins to moan does Mrs. Lovett realize she has let her tears spill. She jumps and hiccups, wiping at her eyes as she whirls around, fear wrapping its fingers around her heart. The Judge lies there, deep gashes marring his neck and face, but he still moans, slithering towards her like some sort of sick animal. She screams, backing hastily into the work table, but when he corners her she attempts to leap over him. The Judge's wandering hands find purchase and he clings to his skirts, his body convulsing. The air whistles as it leaks from his slit windpipe, and for the first time Mrs. Lovett thinks that perhaps death is a disgusting and revolting thing rather than a beautiful one as she had previously thought.

Finally, finally, the thing dies. His grip relaxes and his body squelches on the blood-soaked stone. She stares for a moment, her eyes torn between the mutilated man in front of her and the bloody handprints on her dress. Blinking, Mrs. Lovett stumbles away from the man, her eyes catching sight of a new body she hadn't noticed before. It was a woman. Why a woman? Mr. T only ever killed men, the men who came in for a shave. But suddenly, the grimy hair and tattered clothes make her gasp, and she flies toward the body of Lucy Barker.

"You," she spits, her heart clenching in fear, and she kneels beside the body, brushing hair that once was golden from the woman's scarred face. No. Oh no oh no oh no. Shit. Mr. Todd was sure to have heard her screaming a moment ago; he would be here any second. He couldn't find out she lied to him. He couldn't see his wife here. He would kill her. He would kill her. Her heart jumped into her throat at the thought, and Mrs. Lovett hastily stood, tripping over her skirts in her rush to drag the small body to the oven. The dead weight pulled behind her like a ton of bricks, and she was so close so close when the bakehouse door burst open. Her heart stopped and she jumped, whirling toward Sweeney Todd, baptized in blood, and just knew.

"Does the Judge live?"

She wrings her hands in her lap, trying desperately to keep her eyes from Lucy. "I- 'e was hangin' on me skirts but he's finished now," she says, making a split instant decision to throw the body in the fire before he can recognize it. Desperate hands reach for Lucy again, and she uses all her strength to pull her toward the fire. But Sweeney Todd crosses the bakehouse in two strides, reaching for the beggar.

"Leave her to me."

Mrs. Lovett moves so her back is blocking Lucy as she drags her. "No." Mr. Todd freezes, and his brow furrows.

"Leave them to me I said!"

"NO!"

He pulls her away roughly, shoving her toward the oven. "Go open the doors."

She does not move, praying perhaps her hair is too dirty to appear gold or that her face is too scarred to be recognized. But as he reaches for her, she lunges for him.

"NO DON'T TOUCH HER!"

Sweeney Todd freezes, his arm outreached toward his wife. His lips part in a silent 'oh,' and he falls to his knees. Everything is gone, all that there is in this world is Mr. Todd and his dead wife and the way he cannot speak and Mrs. Lovett wishes for the first time that she had not done this terrible thing.

"'Don't I know you,' she said..."

Mrs. Lovett trembles, wiping sweaty palms on the already soiled skirts of her dress. And then he turns to her, and his eyes are so dark, so black with hatred that she presses a hand to her chest and staggers backward, eyes wide, as her heart beats a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

"You lied to me..."

And she gives a hysterical laugh as she pleads with him, backing slowly away as he comforts her, but something is so wrong about this that she does not stop until her back is pressed against the brick wall and still her instinct screams to move, to get away from him. And then he smiles, and her heart stops.

"What's dead is dead."

He pulls her to him, his arms surprisingly strong, and she stifles a sob, resting her head on his shoulder. Mr. Todd leads her quickly away from the wall and the walk together, almost a dance, never breaking contact. His hand finds its way to her waist, and the other grasps her wrist tightly. His roughness almost makes tears spill down her cheeks, but she doesn't care because he is touching her and he loves her and he will take her to the sea.

She is murmuring to him now, excited whispers about the seaside and their marriage echoing around the bakehouse filled with nothing but the dead, but he cuts her off, whirling around quickly. And Mrs. Lovett knows he remembers. He taught her to dance so many years ago, and now he was reassuring her in the same way. Soon they are spinning, spinning through the cellar. Faster and faster they twirl, and just as she leans toward him to kiss his bright red lips and caress the crimson lines on his face, his mouth turns into a sneer and she feels the most unbearable pain of her life, and as agony wrenches through her soul and body, Mrs. Lovett hates to think his breathless laugh is the last sound she will ever hear


End file.
